


If One Only Remembers to Turn on the Light

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, farmer's market hot, this fic is not about what you might think it's about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: Every week, Killian sells his wares at the farmer's market, and every week, he sees Her. One day they meet--through well-meant, meddling matchmakers, of course--and Killian realizes that there is much more to the beautiful Emma Swan than he'd first thought. Alternate Universe.





	1. Chapter 1

_There she goes again._

At least, Killian thought it was her.

“Isn’t that your lass?” Liam murmured from his side.

“I don’t know what you mean, Brother. Three-fifty, love.” Killian looked down to the woman right in front of him and smiled brightly, and when she gave him a five dollar bill and an entreaty to keep the change, he pretended not to notice when her touch lingered as their fingers brushed. He winked at her before she turned to go, however. Never hurt to keep them coming back for more.

“I mean,” Liam continued with a knowing grin once the woman was on her way, “that blonde beauty who comes ‘round every Sunday. The one who dithers over there at the Mexican juice stand, buys an horchata, and throws furtive looks this way. The one you follow with your eyes every damned week. The one you’re just dying to--”

“Stow it, Captain,” Killian groaned. “If she were interested, she’d stop by my sad little stall and, I don’t know. Ask me about my--”

“Dinghy?”

“Nice.” Killian grinned, automatically looking up to seek out the blonde woman, but she had seemingly vanished. Feeling suddenly dejected, he opened the cash box and dropped the fiver into the tray, not even bothering to place it in order with the other bills, knowing it would drive him mad all day but sort of wanting the annoyance.

He was going to say something withering to his brother, something about how he could maintain his own (sorry lack of) love life, but another bright-faced woman approached, exclaiming over his wares, and his comment was lost in providing answers to her many questions. Why yes, they were all handcrafted. No, Ma’am, he didn’t think there was much to it. Thirty dollars. Yes, thirty. Those? They’re authentic replica pieces of eight. Yes, the pirate currency, only three-fifty. Certainly, would you like a bag? And on and on and on.

Several more women came up, as they always did, and while he didn’t sell any of his handcrafted ships in a bottle, Killian certainly made a killing when it came to replica pirate treasure. As the end hour of the farmer’s market approached, he sighed, ignoring Liam’s continued teasing about mysterious and beautiful blonde women and packing away his booth until the following week.

That night and most nights, really, he dreamt of her, the blonde. Strange, vivid dreams full of danger and longing for things that could not be. He never quite remembered the details, only how he felt upon waking--like he’d missed out on something good, and like there had to be more to his life than eking out a living as a novelist for six days a week and a farmer’s market peddler the other day while living in the guest cottage behind his brother’s home.

Sometimes, he felt like he was meant for more. Especially when he woke from his dreams, the ghostly lips of a half-remembered woman on the verge of kissing him pulling away before he could react properly.

He always did have a rich imagination. He supposed that was what made him want to write books. That, and a lack of anything otherwise exciting going on in his life.

The following Sunday began as usual. Killian set up his tables and canopy, the brisk autumn morning heralding the oncoming cold. Stray and colorful leaves scattered playfully in the breeze, adding a delightful element to what was shaping up to be a bright, clear day. He could see his breath puffing about as he unpacked his plastic tubs, unwrapping the bottles and carefully setting his favorites on their little wooden stands. Liam finished anchoring the EZ-Up, grunting as he tied rope in an icicle hitch around each pole.

“Bit complicated for the job, don’t you think,” Killian murmured as he straightened the handwritten signs indicating his prices.

“You can take the sailor from the ocean, et cetera,” Liam said jovially. He was even whistling as he worked. Killian was instantly on the alert. He stopped what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at his brother, who was doing his best to ignore his pointed stare.

“What are you so cheerful about?”

“I’m always like this.”

“My arse,” Killian smirked. “Ruby must’ve given it to you good, Brother.”

“I’ll thank you not to speak of my wife in such a way.”

“Your _wife_ speaks of your wife in such a way, Lee.”

“She does, doesn’t she,” Liam sighed fondly, shaking his head out of whatever memory he’d been having. Killian made a face and returned to his work, utterly forgetting that he’d been suspicious to begin with.

He remembered some time later. There he was, trying to fend off two teenage girls who were giggling over the _adorable_ ships in a bottle, when suddenly, a freckle-faced boy appeared. He looked familiar, though Killian could not say where he knew the lad; shrugging, he assumed he’d simply seen him around, and he put on his friendliest smile. Boys and men were often utterly fascinated by Killian’s bottles; he supposed it was because they always thought that boats were the provenance of men. They’d pick them up and scrutinize the work carefully before making utterly banal observations about ships, sailing, and the hard work involved. Occasionally a fellow navyman would show up, most times an older gentlemen, and if Liam happened to be there, they’d all reminisce about the good old days when men were men. Killian found the good ole boys mentality tiring, but the old sea dogs were often the only ones who purchased his carefully crafted bottles, so he didn’t mind it overmuch.

He prepared himself to answer the questions of this freckle-faced lad; he looked like the curious type, and Killian was in a good mood. The weather was lovely, if not overly cold for the time of year. One of those very sea dogs had purchased a bottle earlier, which meant he had yet another box cleared from Ruby’s garage. He was feeling generous, and in good charity with the world at large.

Smiling, Killian waited for the boy to speak, well used to the awkward shuffling and mumbling of children afraid of asking strange adults questions, but this boy did none of that; oddly, he simply smiled, looking somewhat expectant and fit to burst, if the impatience clear on his face was any indication.

“Ah, Henry, lad,” Liam boomed, coming back from his truck where he’d been loading up the boxes of wares, the last hour of the farmer’s market nearly over. “And what a surprise seeing you here.” Killian eyed his brother suspiciously once again; Liam’s tone was a bit too bright, a bit too enthusiastically clueless. What was he on about now?

“Hi, Mr. Jones,” the boy--Henry--returned before turning his earnest face to Killian.

“This is my brother, Killian,” Liam said, tipping his head in Killian’s direction. “Brother, this is Henry. We, uh--that is--I met him while--” Liam reached up and scratched behind his ear--the infamous Jones brothers tell. Killian narrowed his eyes; what the hell was his brother up to?

“Mr. Jones--I mean, Liam, because you’re Mr. Jones, too, right? Anyway, hi, Killian, Mr...Liam was telling me about how his little brother makes ships in a bottle and how like, you used to do it for therapy, or something? So I took the last ripe Vidalia onion from Mrs. Lattimore’s booth and Mr...Liam wanted to fight me for it but my mom wanted to make chicken soup and she always says it tastes better with sweet onions but then Liam said his wife was very scary and if he came home empty-handed he’d be very cold at night and I don’t really know what that means, but I let him have the onion, anyway, and he told me I could come look at your awesome ships and you’d tell me all about the time he saved your life while serving for her Majesty’s royal navy so like, that’s why I’m here. Hi, I’m Henry, by the way.” The boy finished his breathless explanation, his cheeks flushed and his eyes clear. Killian liked him immediately.

“Hello, Henry. It’s a pleasure, but I’m afraid I can’t honor my brother’s request.” He watched Henry’s face fall, saw in his periphery how Liam immediately tensed, so he quickly put the two of them at ease. Leaning forward, he felt a twinkle in his eye as he said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “I’m the one who saved his life, so it would be bad form of me to allow the falsehood to come to fruition.”

“Wow,” Henry grinned, turning to Liam. “You’re right. He _is_ a regular Shakespeare.”

Killian turned to Liam, once again narrowing his eyes. His brother was definitely up to something.

Fortunately, it did not take long for Killian to realize his brother’s game, which seemed to include the young Henry. Killian decided to humor them both, picking up a ship at random and pointing out the various details in it--the materials he’d used, how it had been soothing to him to use his hand in a way that was useful. And to his credit, Henry did seem genuinely interested.

Until he suddenly perked up, stood up straight, and said, “I’ll be right back!” Killian watched as the boy dashed off, amused at his boyish exuberance. Right until the moment he followed the lad’s mad dash...toward the blonde woman he loved to gaze at from afar.

Horrified and oddly excited, Killian watched with fascination as Henry pulled at her arm. He was unable to hear what the lad was saying, but it was clear that he was trying his best to convince her of something. Whatever it was, he hoped the lad was successful. She seemed…

_Beautiful_ , he thought to himself. Beautiful and familiar in that way that the most ethereally and truly lovely women are, as if they haunted one’s dreams and represented the hope and longing every man held for himself in the deepest, darkest parts of his soul.

_I really ought to use that one in my book_ , he thought, but then all poetic license left him as Henry seemed to meet with success. With a look on her face that he read as begrudging acceptance, the lovely dream-woman allowed Henry to pull her forward and toward his sad little booth.

“Lee--” Killian began, looking over his shoulder to--, well. He didn’t know, exactly. But it was ever his habit to look for his brother when he felt anxious, and naturally, Liam was nowhere to be found.

“Wanker,” he muttered, straightening his jacket and putting on a friendly expression. The way Henry was toting the woman along made it clear that she was either mother or caregiver, and Killian wanted to make a good impression. He liked Henry and wanted whatever matronly approval she had to bestow.

_Matronly. Ha._

“Killian,” Henry said breathlessly as the two reached his table. “This is Emma Swan, my mom. Mom, this is Killian Jones.” Henry stepped back from her side and looked expectantly between the two, his eyes excited and a satisfied, beaming grin full of anticipation highlighting his freckled face.

“Hey,” Emma said, her tone clipped and careful. It pained him, though he could not say why; it was more than the mere wish to make a good impression on the woman he’d been admiring for months now. He glanced at Henry before reaching out with his one good hand, wondering just how many men her boy had introduced her to, to put such an expression of caution on her face.

“You have a remarkable boy there, Miss Swan,” he offered, then he did something he did not often do--he allowed his full and genuine charm to take over his face. He felt his grin deepen, knowing it put his dimples on display, but for whatever reason, he wanted this woman to see him as more than he was. He knew that he was a handsome man, and so what if he occasionally used that to his advantage? Emma Swan was a stunningly beautiful woman, even more so up close. But he could sense that there was quite a lot to her, more than an unruly mass of hair and delightful cheekbones. He could sense deep unhappiness inside of her, and mistrust. Not just of him, but of people in general. He could relate. For the first time in ages, he felt like he knew a lot about a person just by looking at the set of her shoulders and the way her eyes darted around, as if she was calculating possible exit strategies.

In that two second pause before she reached for his hand with hesitation, he realized he’d been wanting to make her acquaintance for quite a while, ever since the first time he’d caught a glimpse of her wandering the stalls at the farmer’s market.

He hadn’t felt that kind of muted longing in quite some time.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice still cautious but also curiously wry. “Henry isn’t exactly the shy type.”

“Neither’m I,” Killian boomed, though inwardly he cringed at himself. _Be cool, Jones._ “Er, that is, it’s hard to be a salesman and still be shy. Though I must confess, I’m not that great a salesman, as you can see.” Still shaking her hand with his right, he swept his left arm wide to indicate the unsold wares, watching carefully to see how she reacted to his prosthetic.

Either she didn’t notice the unnaturally stiff set to his left hand, or she didn’t care.

“I dunno, I always see women here buying your stuff, so at least you’ve got that face of yours working for you,” Emma said, and it was amazing, really, how a subtle compliment could fill him with giddiness.

“Mom,” Henry interrupted. Killian looked over at the boy’s grinning face and Emma did as well, a question wrinkling her brow. Henry looked down significantly to where Killian was only just realizing was their hands, still clasping each other, still faintly moving up and down. Killian loosened his grip on Emma’s hand, utterly embarrassed but simultaneously ecstatic. Emma’s fingers brushed across his palm as she slowly pulled her hand away, and he felt an electric thrill pulse down his entire body at the loss of contact.

He wanted to touch her again. He wanted to keep her hand warm, wanted to see if she was always cold like that. He didn’t even stop to parse out why it was that he felt these things with such ferocity; he only knew as he grinned at the pink-cheeked smile on her face that she felt it, too.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” boomed an annoying voice from behind him; rolling his eyes and turning to face the wide smile of his brother, Killian could feel the sting of warmth in his own cheeks as he tried his best to school what he feared was a starry-eyed, moony look in his expression. “Henry, lad! Looks like you’ve brought us a visitor. Who’s your friend?”

“Liam Jones, my much, _much_ older brother. Brother, this is Emma, Henry’s mother.”

“You have a wonderful boy,” Liam told her, reaching out to shake her hand. Killian regarded the exchange with an eagle eye, utterly satisfied that the handshake was short and business-like. Not that he suspected his brother of anything, but Liam could be somewhat of a jackass where a woman was involved. He’d have to lecture him later on conspiring with a child to set him up since that was obviously what was going on, but when he felt a prickle of awareness and turned to find Emma unabashedly staring at him, he knew he wouldn’t have the heart to take Liam to task for it.

As everyone involved was aware of the matchmaking, a grinning Henry stepped away abruptly and said, “Well, I’m gonna head home, Mom. Homework tomorrow, and all.” He kissed her cheek and began to walk backward. “You go eat lunch without me, I’ll just make a sandwich or something.”

“Oh, say! Killian needs to eat, too. Why don’t you take her to that sushi place around the corner that you like so much?” Liam grinned, elbowing Killian in the arm.

“Great idea!” Henry called out. “Go on, Mom! Have a good time!” He then turned and jogged off, leaving an exasperated-looking mother and an amused Killian behind. Liam cleared his throat and turned, reaching for the cash box and rifling inside.

“Your earnings, Lieutenant,” he said with faux formality, shoving a fistful of cash into Killian’s hand. “Go. I’ll pack up the booth.”

“Liam--” Killian began. This was all too much. And...shouldn’t he be the one asking her out? After a suitable period? They’d only met ten minutes before, after all.

_Ah, but in my dreams, we’ve known each other far longer._

Sometimes, he lamented his own fanciful thoughts.

“This is ridiculous,” Emma muttered, echoing Killian’s own thoughts perfectly. He turned to look at her sharply; she was looking right at him, and while he couldn’t exactly decipher the look in her eye, he felt a kinship with her in that moment. Like they’d been cornered into this, and quite possibly that they didn’t mind. Well, he didn’t mind, and he could sense that she didn’t mind, either.

Maybe she really _had_ been staring at his booth all this time.

“Swan, we don’t have to go to lunch.” He chuckled as he spoke, though it pained him to do so. He truly did not wish to let her go, but he also did not wish to force her into something as mundane as sharing a meal with him, even if he was rather hungry. “Our little matchmakers can withstand the disappointment, I’m sure.”

“You saying you don’t wanna take me out to lunch, Jones?” The way she lifted her brow at him caused a swooping sensation to swirl around down in his gut that trickled further to his groin. He gulped; perhaps he had imagined it, but he could have sworn her muted green eyes had flickered down to that exact part of his body, as if she’d known what kind of effect she had on him. Madness, he was being taken over by madness. A damned beautiful woman was making him _mad_.

But he wasn’t going to be defeated by it--once upon a time, Killian had been every inch the flirting cad, and he felt the familiar--if somewhat rusty--confidence of that overtake him as he swaggered around the table his brother was clearing. Emma looked up at him somewhat belligerently, her chin tilting up and a look of defiance blazing in her eyes. He was intrigued by that; what was it about him that put such a look on her face?

“Oh, I’d relish the challenge, love.”

“Challenge?”

“Aye. You seem to be looking for a fight.” She smiled thinly at that, though her eyes softened somewhat. In that instant, he felt he knew a lot about her--that she was, indeed, always ready for a fight, but that perhaps she did not wish to be that way.

It was what made him do what he did.

Sticking his left elbow out and shoving the handful of cash into his back pocket with his right hand, Killian smiled down at her, genuine as he could, and said, “So what do you say, Swan? Sushi? I’m buying.” _Please please please_ , he chanted to himself.

“Sure, I could always use a free lunch,” she responded, doing her best to keep what he knew would be a devastating smile at bay, but he could detect the threat of it in the way her eyes warmed as they regarded one another. She slipped her hand into his elbow and raised her brows; he took the hint, and they were on their way.

“Don’t keep him out too late,” Liam called behind them as they stepped out from under the shade of his booth and into the dimmed autumn sun.

“Get fucked, Liam,” he called back, earning a delighted laugh from Emma that made him feel as though he’d just finished first in a race for his life.

The sushi restaurant was no more than a ten minute’s walk away, so he did his best to draw it out without appearing like he was doing so. He set a somewhat sedate pace, hoping that she wouldn’t see right through him.

“So,” Emma said, her cheerfulness somewhat forced, but he sensed it was more from discomfort at the situation than anything to do with him. “You’ve been doing this a while, right?”

“Selling at the farmer’s market?”

“Yeah.” She was looking around, her eyes swinging from booth to booth, as if she were looking for someone. _Or some_ thing, came the unbidden thought. Though he knew that was ridiculous and merely the product of an overactive writer’s imagination, nonetheless--the thought made him shiver.

“Aye. A little over a year now. My sister-in-law, Ruby--Liam’s wife--suggested this as a solution for my ‘arts and crafts taking over the garage.’”

“You live with Liam and his wife?”

“I do.”

“It’s just me and Henry.”

“Good. Ah, I mean--” He felt his ears burning and had to work hard to resist the urge to scratch that itch at his neck, especially when Emma chuckled knowingly.

“His father is…?”

“A shitbag. Not really. Kind of. I don’t know. He’s around for like, birthdays and stuff.” Emma shrugged, dislodging her own hand from his arm, but to his immense satisfaction, she tucked it right back into his elbow, wiggling her fingers and digging into his arm before settling in once more. “We’re friendly and everything now. He wants to…” But she did not finish the thought, her face turning from his to once more scan the length, width, and breadth of the farmer’s market lane.

He wanted to ask her what it was, exactly, that Henry’s father wanted, but he knew it was not his right to ask, so he didn’t. That did not prevent his curiosity from burning a hole in his brain, of course. _He wants to what, Swan? Get back together?_ God, he hoped not.

Killian sighed heavily. Honestly, he had no right to be hoping for anything. He barely knew her, for God’s sake.

“Arts and crafts?” she said slyly after a spell. “How very Martha Stewart of you.”

“I used to knit, actually. Before this.” He wiggled his wrist and held his breath, wondering if she would ask about his hand. Her fingers tightened briefly, but otherwise, she said nothing in response. “I taught myself how after accidentally losing a fellow sailor’s stocking cap to the ocean in a drunken bout of keep-away. I had to make up for my own poor form.”

“Wow, remind me not to get drunk on boats with you.”

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “I think you’d look enchanting with a red beanie.”

“That would clash with my jacket, don’t you think?”

“Then we’ll just have to get you out of it,” he returned, his eyes widening in shock when he realized what he’d just said. “Er, sorry--”

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Bit forward, but sure.”

“Swan, I didn’t mean--”

“I know what you meant,” she said, laughter clear in her voice. Then he felt her shrug before saying, “I mean, at least you’re original. Most guys just try to get me out of my pants. You’re more of a whole picture kind of guy, aren’t you?”

She was _delightful_.

He looked down at her, a crooked half-grin curling his lips, but when their eyes met, he nearly stumbled at the sparkle in her eyes. It wasn’t anything different from how she’d looked a moment before; he was simply entranced, shocked, stunned. Emma was beautiful. On the inside, he just knew it. With one look--one brief, infinitesimal, mundane moment--he could tell: she would be worth any fight, any obstacle, any ex. She was _worth_ it.

He was a romantic, but he’d never really believed in love at first sight. Lust, to be sure; arousal, attraction, even obsession. But as he stood there, strolling down the utterly familiar thoroughfare of his local farmer’s market, exchanging banter with a stunning woman on his arm and the prospect of a crunchy roll and perhaps some yellowtail in his belly, Killian was quite certain that he fell in love with Emma Swan at that exact moment in time. 

Love at first stroll, perhaps.

“It’s just up ahead,” Killian said bracingly, telling himself to remain collected. Liam always told him that he had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve; he’d have to watch it. Wouldn’t want to scare the woman away with the force of his feelings. Even as she laughed and pointed at a dog that had escaped its owner’s leash, he knew that would prove difficult. There was something about this Emma Swan, and with a certainty of which he did not know the source, he knew he was going to be allowed to discover just what it was.

The dog and exasperated owner passed, and together, Emma and Killian paused to watch the amusing scene go by. When Emma turned back around, he caught the mischievous sparkle in her eye and responded to it with his own grin. A few steps later he slowed down, nearly losing Emma’s arm when he realized she had come to a complete stop mere paces away from Koji’s Grill.

“It looks like rain.”

“Does it? Wasn’t in the forecast.” Killian looked up, a bit surprised to see that there was, indeed, a set of grey clouds rolling in from the direction of the coast. “Funny, I can usually feel it in me bones,” he said, exaggerating his accent to make her laugh, but when he looked down at Emma, she wasn’t laughing.

In fact, she wasn’t paying any attention to him at all.

She was looking toward the oncoming storm, her lips set in a thin line, a look of determination making a wrinkle appear between her brows. Killian looked back at the clouds to try to determine if he could see what she saw, and that’s when several things happened in quick succession.

First, he noticed a strange, dark billowing in the clouds, focusing in thin streams and looking for all the world like they were headed straight for him. For one ludicrous half-second, he had the crazy notion that something was coming.

Then, off in the distance, he became aware of a sort of electrical buzzing sound, almost like thunder rolling in the distance, only higher-pitched, almost like screaming.

Then, Emma grabbed his arm and squeezed. Hard.

“Killian,” she said urgently. He didn’t know what she was going to say, he didn’t know what put the note of danger in her voice--all he knew was that he reacted, wanting nothing more than to protect this woman that he knew he already loved.

“Emma,” he breathed, turning to cover her body against the advancing, roiling storm. “We need to get inside.”

And then, all hell broke loose.

A woman screamed. The sound of windows smashing in the near-distance filled the air. A whooshing sound, and then--

A glimmering, shimmering silver _something_ headed toward them. He reacted on instinct, pulling Emma toward him; she struggled, and he began to whisper soothing, urgent words into her ear, to trust him, to allow him, to put faith in him.

But she broke free of his embrace and took a step back. Crestfallen, he opened his mouth to explain, and possibly to holler at her that they needed to get inside once again, when the glimmering, shimmering something landed in front of them.

In a near-hysteria, what with the noise and the advancing storm and a wind that had blustered from nowhere, scattering leaves in a whirlwind and making the few people who hadn’t already run to escape whatever was coming seek shelter, Killian froze and dropped his jaw. He _knew_ he was crazy now, for the glimmering, shimmering something looked remarkably like a leopard.

And then all reason left him completely as the silver-blue, transparent, cat-like creature spoke.

“The Dark One advances. Return to headquarters immediately.”

Somehow, the smooth and regal voice matched the sleek and somewhat aggressive expression on the cat-like creature’s face. It turned its head to the side and with what looked remarkably like a sneer (it showed him its teeth, anyway), the cat-like creature dissipated into the wind.

Before Killian could react to this stunning turn of events, Emma took the reins firmly in hand. She muttered, “Ah, shit,” closed the distance between them, grabbed his arm, then looked into his eyes.

She scanned what she saw there, which he was quite certain was a look of panic mixed with confusion, then sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry about this.”

“About wha--” he began, but then she muttered underneath her breath. Just as the storm seemed to arrive in what looked like a mass of roiling, purple clouds and what sounded like a wickedly delighted cackle, Killian felt a sickening pull inside, as if something had hooked him behind his navel and pulled down.

There was a billowing of white smoke that coalesced around them, and then they were simply gone.

* * *

A mere moment later, he felt a jarring sensation, like he’d fallen off a tall building and landed flat on his feet.

He promptly turned to the side and began to dry heave, praying for absolution in the form of vomiting up whatever it was that made him feel like he did on his first float rotation, the up-down of the waves and close quarters with twenty-five other sailors making him run to the head several times that first night. His body produced nothing but hacking coughs, however, and he took several breaths that stung his lungs with needle-like sharpness before rising to his full, if slightly hunched, height.

Before he could even regain his sense of self, he heard that same cat-like arrogance just behind him.

“ _Ugh_. What have you dragged home this time, Swan?”

_Emma. Emma Swan. That’s right._ Killian looked up, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, almost afraid to face her after the spectacle he’d just made of himself.

Then he remembered. The storm. The screaming. _The Dark One advances._

What did it all mean?

He looked up, relieved that Emma looked exactly the same. He offered her a timid smile, feeling much better the longer he gazed at her somewhat troubled face.

“I couldn’t help it, Madam President. Collateral damage.”

“Yes,” said the smooth, haughty woman behind him. “That seems to be a theme with you. Giving hope to the hopeless.”

“What--?” Killian began, not liking the holier-than-thou tone whomever it was that was speaking was taking with Emma. He braced himself as he turned, hoping against hope it had been some sort of hallucination, that a leopard had seemed to appear as if by _magic_ , that when he turned around it would be nothing more than a normal human--

“ _You_ ,” hissed the woman, who really was a woman and not some leopard or lynx or whatever-it-had-been. She was petite in size, but that was belied by the air of authority emanating around her. She was beautiful, in a very unapproachable way--dark where Emma was light. Then she sneered at him, and call him mad, but it looked an awful lot like the cat just before they’d…

“Ms. Swan,” the cat-woman barked, turning to face Emma with her hands on her hips. “We have been _over_ this.” She jerked her chin at him, and he felt himself bristle at the obvious dismissal of his person.

“I know,” Emma muttered apologetically. She looked over at Killian, who still had no fucking clue what was happening, then turned back to the woman who appeared to be in charge. “But they were coming, Regina. What was I supposed to do, just leave him there?”

“That’s _Madam President_ to you, Ms. Swan. Right now, you aren’t my friend. You’re an insubordinate, reckless, selfish aur--”

“They would have captured and tortured him! I can’t just stand by and--”

“It’s no matter now,” Regina ( _Madam President? Of what?_ ) sighed. “I know how you feel, Emma. I do. I even sympathize. But you know the rules.”

“I do.” Emma sighed again before looking at him with sorrowful eyes of green that seemed brighter now. He wondered in a daze if it was due to the dull golden candlelight that surrounded them, which he noticed with little surprise by now came from candles that seemed for all the world to be floating in mid-air.

“Killian, I’m so sorry for getting you into this. Again,” Emma whispered as she came before him. She smiled, soft and tremulous, and without stopping to wonder what made him so bold, he put his hand on her cheek and smiled back.

“It’s all right, love.”

“It’s really not.” She sighed once more before looking over her shoulder at Regina. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Regina answered. “And make it stick this time.”

“I can’t help it! He just keeps--”

“You can, and you will. And you will stop keeping an eye on him.”

“Fine.” Emma turned back to Killian, closing her eyes briefly. When she re-opened them, there was so much sorrow swimming around in her gaze that he felt the need to apologize, and to comfort her. Without thought, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and simply breathing her in.

It felt like coming home.

He felt her arms wrap around his waist as she pulled him in for a hug, and when their chests pressed together, he knew. Oh, he’d known earlier, of course, but somehow, being like this--touching her, breathing with her, their hearts beating in tandem--he _knew_.

He’d loved her a lot longer than he’d previously thought.

Then one of her arms left the embrace and she reached behind herself into the pocket at the back of her jeans. He felt her arm come back up, felt a cold, hard something press into his temple. He opened his eyes and leaned back, feeling confusion welling in his throat as he looked at the utter desolation in Emma’s eyes.

The last thing she said to him before doing it was,

“Obliviate.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the enthusiastic response, you guys! you're all like a patronus banishing away the bad thoughts~~~~

  


  


* * *

**They Meet Again**   


Killian awoke with a dull clanging fogging his brain, and slightly blurred vision. Figuring he was having another of the strange headaches he’d been waking with recently, he grimaced as he stood, rubbing his eyes and heading for the bathroom.

Once he’d dressed, he made his way over to the main house. There, he found the wide grin of Ruby Lucas-Jones; she was deftly flipping pancakes over the large range Liam had installed at her insistence and waggling her eyebrows with great exaggeration.

“Morning, Tiger. Fucked any hot girls lately?”

“Roo,” called out a laughing voice from several rooms away. “Do be nice. He’s a virgin, my baby brother.”

Grinning sleepily, Killian slid onto a high-backed barstool and rested his elbows on the kitchen island. “I haven’t met any hot girls lately, darling. But don’t you worry, you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

“I’d better be,” Ruby retorted, turning and pointing a spatula at his nose. “If only your big lummox of a brother could find you a girl as sweet and innocent as his wife, you’d be all set.”

There was a loud snort that announced Liam’s presence. “Innocent, my tight ass. Why, only last night, you tied me to the--”

“ _Hup, hup hup hup_ and no. That’ll be enough of that. Ruby! I am right here, _do_ please stop touching my brother there.”

“Jealous?” she laughed over Liam’s shoulder. “I can come touch you there, too.”

“Envious, maybe.”  


“Darling,” Liam laughed in a light tone. “I am not one for brotherly threesomes, remember? Any man but that one.” Ruby laughed wickedly before sighing with great exaggeration.

“A girl can dream.”  


“I really need to find my own place,” Killian muttered.

“Yeah, then maybe this one here won’t be so afraid to be loud when we--” Ruby began, her deadpan breaking into giggles as Liam hefted her over his shoulder and smacked her on the ass several times. This made Killian groan before resting his head on his arms, only lifting it several minutes later when he heard a thunk on the counter and smelled coffee next to his face. He looked up at the mug being offered by Ruby, whose generous lips tugged down into a frown of concern.

“You know I’m just messing around, right? We don’t want you to move, not if you aren’t ready.”

“I know, love. I just have a headache.” He hummed in appreciation, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a deep, scalding sip.

“Yeah, so does the tight ass, and I kind of do, too.”

“Perhaps we are all getting sick,” he offered, frowning into his mug. He didn’t know what sort of sickness caused all of them to frequently wake with dull headaches, but he was no doctor. Perhaps allergies? The weather? Asbestos in the ceiling of the old house?

“But I mean,” continued Ruby, seemingly unconcerned by her headache, “I do want you to find someone, but again, not if you aren’t ready.”

“Ruby,” he chuckled, taking another sip. “I know.”

“But if you are, I hear there’s this blonde woman--” His head swelled painfully at that one. A brief flash of the golden hair he’d so often admired singed his mind’s eye, making his headache throb momentarily worse.

“Oh, look at the time,” Killian winced, holding out his left arm and glancing at a watch that wasn’t there. “My novel awaits. Have a lovely day at work, you two. Don’t worry about your spinster brother, he’ll be just fine.”

As he trudged back to the guest house, he heard Ruby’s defensive tones arguing with Liam’s booming ones, and he smiled fondly in response. Honestly, he didn’t know what he would do without the couple looking out for him.

* * *

A month or so later, Killian went through the motions of setting up his booth, as he’d been doing for quite some time. Liam was not there to help (if you called sarcastic comments “help”); it was his and Ruby’s fifth anniversary, and they’d left Storybrooke for a short jaunt, taking the boat all three of them owned together out for the weekend.

The weather wasn’t as pleasant as it had been of late--there were low clouds threatening the horizon, and he sighed, knowing there would be fewer sales because of it. Not that he ever did well, but still. 

An hour into it and he hadn’t sold a thing; he was just considering packing up early when a flash of blonde caught his eye. Eagerly leaning forward in his chair, he was quite disappointed when the owner’s face was a bit too pointed, her height a bit too statuesque, her eyes dark instead of the light blue or green or possibly grey, he couldn’t be certain when he’d never seen her up close. _Where are you, my mystery woman?_ he thought, looking around on the off-chance that she’d appear, as if merely thinking of her could summon her before his very eyes.

“One of these days, I’m going to learn your name,” he muttered aloud, tapping his stiff left hand on the cash box and trying to banish her beautiful face from his mind.

“Henry,” came a crackling voice above. He looked up and there was a young boy there, one with a friendly face and excited expression.

“Sorry?”

“My name is Henry,” the boy offered, sticking his hand out and looking expectantly at Killian. Suppressing an amused chuckle, he returned the lad’s handshake and sat back, prepared to be peppered with the questions of the young.

“Pirate treasure?” Henry asked, pulling his hand away and plunging it into the small treasure chest that so amused the people paying far too much for replica coins. 

“ _Arr_ ,” Killian returned, finally laughing in response to the boy’s begrudging chuckle. “Only three-fifty and quite a steal, if you’re so inclined.”

“I might be. I’d have to go ask my mom for the cash.”

“Ah, I’m excellent with mothers, Henry. You should bring her by.” The boy brightened at this, his face splitting into an infectious grin. 

“Yeah? I’ll see what she’s doing.” He whipped out his phone and immediately began to text, his thumbs working quickly and in tandem. In mere moments, he frowned down at the thing, looking up with a crestfallen expression. “She’s uh, busy. Work stuff. Won’t...uh, can’t come down right now.”

“Another time, then.” Killian was suddenly full of curiosity. Henry had seemed so excited at the prospect of his mother coming down; he wasn’t thinking of introducing them, was he? He’d just met the lad, after all. _I do not want to be set up with your mother_ , Henry, he silently informed the boy. What was it with people trying to pair him off? He must look desperate and lonely, especially to a boy who possibly intended on _Sleepless in Seattle_ -ing his mother.

Wishing to banish any awkwardness--it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to the machinations of well-meaning people wanting to set him up on dates, what with Liam and his wife constantly up in his business--he reached for the coin Henry was absently flipping in his palm and said, “May I?” Without hesitation, Henry held out the coin, and Killian palmed it, immediately performing the sleight-of-hand trick he’d learned when beginning his therapy after losing his other hand. His therapist had suggested it as a way to make him see that he could do just fine with only the one, and while he’d resented the hell out of it in the beginning, he had to admit--it had its uses. Impressing young men while distracting them from matchmaking, for one.

He made the coin reappear as if out of thin air, then made it disappear again before flicking it back to existence behind Henry’s ear. He had to give the lad credit--he didn’t roll his eyes or anything, and he did a fair imitation of someone who was impressed.

“Cool. Mind if I try?”

“Not at all, lad. The trick is to--”

Henry took the coin and laid it in his palm. He closed his fist around it, squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered something under his breath; when he opened his fist, the coin was gone.

“Wow,” Killian breathed, very much impressed despite knowing how sleight-of-hand worked. He looked up and grinned easily at Henry.  “Like magic, isn’t it?”

“Exactly like magic,” Henry beamed, sounding quite satisfied with himself. Killian grinned back and in that exact moment, he felt warmth for a lad he didn’t even know. Glancing around and noticing the utter lack of other customers, he decided it wouldn’t be a terrible thing to befriend this boy. At least it would kill the time.

“So tell me, young Henry,” he said, settling back in his chair and looking pointedly at the chair next to him usually reserved for Liam. Henry took the hint and scooted around the table, sitting down and turning to face Killian. “What’s a fine lad such as yourself doing wandering the farmer’s market on a Sunday afternoon? Shouldn’t you be playing XBox, or perhaps catching up on your homework?”

“Oh, this is like, one of the only places Mom lets me go without an escort, so I like to come whenever I can.” _Escort?_ Killian wondered, but didn’t say anything. “She’s put a lot of...she says it’s one of the safest places in town, besides our own house. And my Aunt Regina, she’s super protective, too. She’s the...President of an important company. She has this place watched, since we live nearby.” Killian was starting to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into with befriending this boy, whether his mother (and an Aunt who sounded like she was probably very important and incredibly difficult) would object to a strange man talking to him. He hoped not. 

He rather liked this Henry.

“Sounds to me like your aunt and mother care very much about your safety.”

“You have no idea,” Henry muttered darkly, suddenly looking glum and dejected. Killian swiftly changed the subject.

“Do you go to Storybrooke Middle School, then?”

“Nah, I go to a boarding school in another state. Sometimes I come home on the weekends so Mom isn’t so lonely. She tells me to stay there, be with my friends, but I can’t just leave her to her own devices. She’s always so busy working, if I didn’t make her sit down and eat vegetables sometimes, she’d like, subsist off of grilled cheese and french toast.”

“Granny’s over on Main makes excellent grilled cheese.”

“That’s our favorite!” Henry exclaimed. “We go there all the time. Order ‘the Emma’ if you ever want grilled cheese and onion rings, Granny named it after her, special.”

“It’s a wonder we haven’t run into each other yet,” Killian commented, asking himself if he’d ever noticed Henry there and coming up empty. His headache flared briefly, and he forgot to continue thinking about it. Instead, he tried to assess just what it was that Henry’s mother did, and the likelihood that he’d find himself on the wrong side of the law again should she object to her son befriending a stranger with a bit of a shady past.

“What does she do that keeps her so busy?”

“Private security.”

“Really.” Killian’s eyebrows shot up in interest despite his earlier declaration to stay away from any potential set-ups. He always did like a capable woman.

“Yeah, she likes to joke that she’s hired muscle and a glorified bounty hunter, but it’s way cooler than that.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s like…” Henry paused, looking up as if trying to find the right words. He squinted as he said rather carefully, “She’d say it’s her job to make sure everyone gets their chance at a happy ending. And that sometimes means she has to be a hard-ass who gets the bad guys.”

“Ah, so she’s a knight in shining armor.”

“If you call a red leather jacket armor, then yeah. I know _she_ would.”

Killian had a sudden flash of knowing. His blonde woman was often in a red leather jacket.

Honestly, what were the odds?

_I hereby rescind my refusal to be set up on a date._

Killian opened his mouth to ask some leading questions--mostly to the effect of, “will your mother be here, say, next Sunday, so that I might meet her?” When Henry’s phone dinged.

“Oop, that’s probably my mom.” He pulled his phone out and grimaced at what was on the screen. “And she’s pissed that I’m here. I gotta go.” Killian stood with Henry, suddenly at a loss. He realized he’d been enjoying the boy’s company.

“It was nice to meet you,” Henry offered, his friendly smile at the ready.

“Likewise, Henry. I’m Killian, by the way.”

“I know. Seeya!” The corner of Henry’s mouth quirked up and before he knew it, the lad was on his way.

“He _knows_. Cheeky bugger,” Killian chuckled before turning to finish out his day.

* * *

The next farmer’s market day was downright gloomy; dark and dreary skies threatened, and Killian had arrived to be greeted by fog that refused to dissipate. He just knew there’d be no customers; defeated before he even began, he sat huddled underneath several layers of sweater and jacket, depressed at the notion of another day with no sales. It was as if the very weather permeated his mind and body, dragging him down until he was mired with dull, self-berating thoughts.

He did make one sale, however--an older gentleman in a threadbare American Navy peacoat had seemed downright teary at the notion of owning a “gen-yoo-wine shipinaboll,” and Killian hadn’t stopped him from dreaming. As he was deciding whether to bother with unpacking another to replace it on the stand, he heard a familiar, friendly voice calling out.

“Hey! Killian!” 

He turned to see Henry practically dragging Killian’s dream woman, the blonde who turned out to be his new friend’s mother. Killian grinned eagerly, absently running his hand through his hair and hoping he didn’t look too much a fright.

As their eyes met, it was like the fog had dissipated, the sunshine of her hair a beacon on such a miserable day. He grinned, a sudden sense of anticipation filling him with light.

“Hi,” he breathed as the two approached. He’d never seen her up close, yet her features seemed so familiar, somehow; she was Henry’s mother, after all. Her eyes, muted green like seaglass, were wary yet hopeful. She seemed to be torn between frowning in disapproval and suppressing what he was sure would be a particularly devastating smile. “You’re--”

“Emma.”

“Killian.”

“Yeah, my kid here told me about you.” She looked down at the boy or rather across at him, for he was of a height with her, and shoved his shoulder with hers. With her gaze momentarily elsewhere, Killian took the opportunity to mouth, _that’s your mother?_ at Henry, who beamed and nodded in response. “I hear you’ve got magic up your sleeve?”

“And I hear you’re a badass knight in shining armor.” 

Emma (such a lovely, _lovely_ name) was perplexed by this, looking from Killian to her son and then back again, before laughing with disbelief.

“I mean, I don’t have a sword, or anything.”

“What about--”

“Shh.” She once again shoved Henry with her shoulder, making Killian instantly suspect that she did, indeed, have a sword. How _marvelous_.

“Mom,” Henry said after rubbing his shoulder and glaring at her. “Isn’t what Killian does here cool?” He said it pointedly, making Killian grin. Honestly, he ought to introduce the lad to Liam, they had so much in common--trying to get Killian to date being the biggest thing. He turned his grin on Emma and when she looked at him, he could swear, she turned a faint shade of pink.

“Only old men think what I do is cool,” he told Henry without looking away from Emma. Truth be told, she was far more beautiful up close, and it made him bashful, like a one-handed grumpy introvert such as he had no right to be talking to someone like her. 

It made him bold, that knowledge. That a woman like her was not running from him. Obviously, Emma was a woman who could take care of herself--even the way she was standing was somewhat defensive, her shoulders tense and her stance seeming at the ready--for what, he could not guess. Threats to her son, perhaps.

_Or her own heart._

Knowing not where that stray thought originated, Killian made the decision to simply go for it. It was not often that a chance meeting with a strange and kicwkt woman made him feel like doing something about it, and he’d learned long ago that when it came to intriguing women, he had to act, else he lost them. So, he leaned forward and winked, feeling triumphant when she smiled softly (if somewhat begrudgingly) in response.

“Perhaps old men and certain beautiful women?”

Emma chuckled in disbelief, closing her eyes and shaking her head back and forth, but he got the distinct impression that she was rather pleased with his cheesy comment. Henry, to his credit, said nothing, merely smiling smugly in the way that only young boys whose mischief has been rewarded can do.

“Yeah, okay buddy, that’s enough,” Emma said, still smiling, still unbelievably lovely.

Killian threw up his hands and took a step back; he thought maybe Emma was responding to his eccentric charmm, but he knew not to push. Henry started at that, a crestfallen look overtaking his face as he frowned, but Killian only had eyes for Emma. She, too, seemed somewhat dismayed, and he felt triumph surge anew.

She _was_ interested.

_Quick, man! Strike while the iron is hot!_

“Perhaps the beautiful lady is hungry?” he offered, suddenly feeling like an overeager boy. But he’d learned that his enthusiasm was infectious, rare as it was for him to show it. Something about this woman made him feel giddy, and eager to...action. He only hoped she couldn’t see the sudden desperation in him, the need to know more about her. Or, if she did see it, he hoped she would be kind.

Something told him that Emma would be rather hard to let go of if he were ever lucky enough to catch her. And he allowed himself to wonder whether it would be the same for her.

“I’ve been craving sushi lately, and there’s an excellent Japanese restaurant just around the corner,” he tried, sensing that her answer was not an automatic _no_. That made him desperate; it made him wish to walk right up to her, to grin into her face, to see whether she would respond to his proximity the same way he seemed to respond to her.

“I--”

“I mean, both the beautiful lady and her son, of course,” Killian continued, trying desperately not to sound so...desperate, but he suddenly felt like she was slipping away from him, and he couldn’t have that. Emma looked a bit desperate herself; with a sinking that started down in his knees but somehow ended up in his throat, he knew she was going to refuse him before her lips dropped into a frown.

“Come on, Mom,” Henry murmured, almost too low for him to hear. “What could it hurt?”

“You know the answer to that,” she said flatly, giving her son what could only be described as a firm, motherly glare. She then turned it on him, her face softening a bit at what must have been the sad, pathetic look on his face.

“I’d love to, Kill--Mr. Jones, but it just isn’t possible.”

“Mom--”

“Henry. I said no.” She grabbed Henry’s arm and turned the both of them around, marching off without so much as a good-bye or a knife to his heart.

Killian turned around in kind, feeling as though he’d just lost something indescribably valuable, which was, of course, ridiculous, as he’d only just met her. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Of _course_ she wouldn’t be interested in a failed, one-handed writer. Of course she wouldn’t.

He was so busy berating himself for his ineptitudes and undesirable personality that he did not notice when Emma looked at him over her shoulder as she stomped away, nor did he notice the way she came up short, her heart aching at the slump in his shoulders, the rejection that was there for anyone to see. And he certainly didn’t notice that she almost ran back to him. Almost.

* * *

“Hey. I’m worried about you.”

Killian glanced up from his coffee to regard his sister-in-law. He sighed deeply, knowing what was coming and really not wanting to have the conversation, but he felt that he owed it to her, and to Liam. They’d put up with so much from him--taking him in when he’d lost his hand, bearing with his moods as he recovered. Encouraging him to write down his story, allowing him to sleep in their guest house and eat their food. “It’s what you do for family,” Ruby often shrugged when he tried to thank her, and so he decided to take a page from her book and turned to face her, ready to hear about her concern for him. For family, and all that.

“Why, Ruby darling, whatever do you mean?” he said with feigned innocence, turning coward and hiding his expression behind his coffee mug. When he put it back down on the table she was looking at him skeptically, her eyes roving over his entire face twice before she opened her mouth to speak.

“You don’t go out. You’ve bailed on the farmer’s market the past two weeks. I mean, I’m not saying I want all those bottles out of my garage, but I’d like all of those bottles out of my garage,” she laughed, her face falling somewhat when she saw that her attempt at a joke fell flat. Sighing, she reached for his arm and squeezed it gently. “Look. I know we promised we’d stop trying to set you up, but there’s this girl in my spin class--”

“Thank you, but no,” he said, trying not to let his irritation show.

“Killian--”

“Ruby, I appreciate your concern, but I’m simply not interested.”

“She’s really hot, Killian. Not your usual. Blonde, athletic build, not much with words.”

He looked up at that, his eyebrow lifting of its own accord. The immediate image her words conjured were obvious to his pained mind, but hell. It wasn’t like he’d ever been able to forget that damned blonde wench he wished he could kiss. Ruby regarded his interest with raised eyebrows of her own; he tried to appear nonchalant as he said, “Well, she sounds…”

“She’s great! She’s got a kid, and I know that doesn’t bother you, but full disclosure. She works a lot, but I’ve been talking you up, and I think she’d be down with coffee or something, if you wanna, you know. Get out of the house.”

Killian held his breath. He knew it wouldn’t be Emma, he knew that, and yet…

What if it was?

 _She wasn’t bloody interested, mate_. _It just isn’t possible, she’d said._

But what if it was?

He smiled. His entire life, things had been a succession of bad to worse; what if this one time, something went his way?

“So I’ll just set it up, okay? Her name is Allie, and I think she’d--”

“I have to go,” he said abruptly. He should’ve known. “Thank you, Ruby, truly. But it just isn’t possible.”

As he trudged back to the guest house, he finally acknowledged what he’d known for some time now: it was Emma, or nothing.

* * *

Against his own inclinations, Killian did eventually return to his booth at the farmer’s market. It was nearly winter by then, the air simultaneously heavy and soft with the threat of snow. It would be one of the last, if not the last, market day until the spring, and he hoped to unload the rest of his bottles, so he’d cut the prices down to ten dollars, hoping to rid himself of the reminders of a time when he’d thought himself less of a man.

It was time to move on.

Killian hadn’t told his brother or Ruby just yet; though they joked about it constantly, he knew that they enjoyed having him there to tidy up when they were working and answer the door whenever UPS delivered another one of Liam’s many online purchases. But more than that, he knew they’d worry about him--and that was why he needed to go.

Perhaps he’d even leave Storybrooke.

Killian had seen neither hide nor hair of Emma since the day she had decidedly squashed his hopes. No flashes of blonde hair teasing his periphery, no red leather jackets standing out amongst the drab and dull coats of the other shoppers. He’d seen Henry a few times, standing in the distance with a sad, flat smile before turning away, but that had been before Killian had stopped coming to the market. He hadn’t seen the boy in weeks. 

Even though Emma and Henry had never actually been a part of his life, he felt as if they had; he supposed they represented some sort of ideal for him, the life he could have, or perhaps the life he ought to have had, had the accident not taken his hand and chance at happiness away. And he was starting to resent the reminders of it all--his life had stagnated, and he could no longer stand it.

So, he slashed the prices on his bottles and even made some colorful signs, bargaining with himself as he set up his booth for hopefully the last time. _If I sell them all, I will travel again. I will go see the world, and I will be happy._

_There will be other beautiful blondes._

He ignored the insistent voice in the back of his head calling him a fraud, and a liar. _There is only one blonde, and her name is Emma Swan._

Swan?

Had she told him her last name?

It felt right, anyway.

“Now, would you look at that?” murmured a low, accented voice. Killian looked up from his puzzled thoughts on Emma to a man that he knew he did not know, but there was something about him...something sinister.

 _I do not like you_ , his entire body snarled. 

He regarded the man, trying to ascertain what it was about him that could cause such an instantaneous reaction full of deep, abiding hatred. He was well-dressed, which Killian acknowledged might have been enough, were he not so startled by the vitriol boiling around inside of him. The man was on the small side, but Killian could tell that his stature belied his power. The somewhat whimsical addition of a red carnation tucked into the breast pocket of his coat told Killian a few things: that this man thought much of himself, and that he would smile as he lowered you into your grave.

This was not a man easily defeated.

“Can I help you?” Killian tried politely, swallowing back the bile in his throat. A sale was a sale, after all. Right?

“Can you help me. That _is_ the question, isn’t it?”

The man’s voice was still low, still dangerous. Still setting Killian on edge. He began to glance about for a weapon of some sort, somehow sensing it might be needed. His thoughts flew to the one he kept locked away in a small safe on the boat, but it would do him no good there.

“The ships in a bottle are usually thirty, but today, they’re only ten. I’ve got a few left, if you’re interested.” Killian took a step back and crossed his arms, hoping his unfriendly stance would drive the man away, but no such luck.

“Going out of business sale, is it?” he grinned. Usually smiles improved one’s appearance, but on this man, the smile seemed out of place. Echoes of an eerie cackle assaulted his mind, and when Killian looked again at the crocodile smile, the impression of something jogged his memory, something...horrible.

“You. I remember you,” he said, puzzled at how true the words were, though he could not recall how.

“Always nice to make an impression.”

“Quite. Can I interest you in something, or…?”

“That’s just it. I’m very interested in something you have, but…” The reptile reached out with one finger and tapped it on the glass of one of the bottles before scratching it down the side, the sound grating against Killian’s ears and still-ruffled mind. “I don’t see it here.”

“This is all I have, mate.”

“That’s all you have _here_ , mate,” the crocodile-man mocked, suddenly far less cordial than he’d been. Killian was both shocked and unsurprised at the turn of the man’s temper; it was almost as if he’d dealt with him before. He leaned forward, not understanding his own anger but going with it, nonetheless. He pressed his palms, both real and false, onto the table and met the Crocodile’s eye. 

“I think you should get the hell out of here, before I do something rash.”

The man leaned forward as well, sneering as he came to Killian’s level.

“Go ahead, dearie,” he snarled. “As I recall, the last time you did something rash, you barely lived to regret it.” Killian almost didn’t catch the way the reptile’s eyes flickered over to his left hand, but he did. And it filled him with rage.

He stood straight and adjusted his stance, his one hand flexing into a fist, but before he could let it fly, he heard a hoarse shout, the words garbled but the tone full of anger.

And terror.

Emma Swan bounded into view, her golden hair whipping behind her like an avenging angel. The look on her face was full of glorious fury, tempered by fear. Killian wanted to shout to her, to tell her to back away, but before he could unstick the words of warning from his throat, she stopped a few paces behind the well-dressed crocodile.

“I warned you.”

The man smiled, his eyes bright with mischievous delight.

“Aye, you did. And I warned you--one day your coterie of guards would grow lazy, and on that day, I would be here.”

Rather than answer that, Emma looked over to Killian, and he was somewhat baffled to see her look of fury transferring over to him. Her eyebrows knitted as she demanded, “You aren’t supposed to be here. They told me you’d left, I don’t understand what--”

“This is all very interesting,” interrupted the Crocodile, turning halfway, presumably so he could keep his eyes on both Emma and Killian at the same time, “but I’ve no time to waste in seeing two woebegone lovers reunite. I’ll just get what I came here for, cut off this pretty boy’s other hand, and then show _you_ what a real curse looks like.” Emma tensed at this, her hand automatically reaching behind her for what Killian could have sworn looked exactly like a wand. It would have all been so very startling if it wasn’t so _familiar_. Like the half-second before realizing you’ve seen this episode before, and in two seconds you’ll remember the identity of the killer.

And then there was a sinking, vomitous feeling tugged at his gut. Again, familiar.

_I must protect Emma. Before the Dark One can kill her like--_

Dark One?

He was going mad.

The next few moments were a blur; flashes of purple lightning and white smoke and zapping sounds; Emma seemed to disappear, only to reappear at his side a heartbeat later. She grabbed him, yelled “Duck!” in his ear before dragging him down, and the next thing he knew, he was being lifted to his feet and there were several unfamiliar men and women standing about, all with their own wands and fierce expressions.

“Emma?” he said with uncertainty, glad when he turned that she seemed much the same, a grim expression turning her lips to a frown. Her eyes darted to his, searching his face and then body, presumably for signs of injury.

“I’m fine,” he told her, standing to his full height. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

She chuffed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. When she opened them she could not seem to look away, and he had to say, the feeling was mutual. He watched as her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips, his entire body telling him that in this moment, he _had_ to kiss her. And that she would let him.

“Emma?” called out a voice from behind him. “He’s gone.”

“I know,” she returned, her eyes not leaving his. He realized that in the last few seconds or so she’d come closer, their chests practically touching. She was gazing up at him with such a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation that he wished to do nothing more than quell whatever it was that was disturbing her.

_Kiss her!_

“Emma,” he breathed, leaning down. She nodded and briefly squeezed her eyes shut; he understood her perfectly. _Go ahead_ , she was saying. _You can kiss me_.

“Miss Swan!” came an utterly livid voice behind them. Killian huffed, wanting nothing more than to tell the woman to fuck off, and when Emma’s mouth quirked into an endearing half-smile, he nearly did just that.

The furious clacking of heels preceded a woman coming up to them. Killian tried to ignore her in favor of his heart’s desire standing before him, closer now, her hands resting lightly on his hips. He was nearly embracing her, and everything in him shouted to pull her closer, to give her everything he had, even though he was already beginning to realize she didn’t really need him.

But the way she couldn’t seem to let go…

“I tire of this. You _told_ me you sent him away. You _told_ me he wouldn’t remember. And yet the Dark One seems to think he knows something.”

“Regina,” Emma sighed, her eyes still not leaving Killian’s. As if she didn’t want to let him out of her sight.

He rather liked that idea. His lips twitching into a near-smile, he pulled her closer, his fingers pressing into her shoulder. _Don’t let me go_ , he begged with his eyes, his fingers, his mind. His heart.

“This time, I’ll take care of it,” the woman said curtly. “You take care of the brother and his wife and then return to New York. You’re done here.”

Emma swallowed twice, nodding with her eyes closed. Already, Killian could feel her pulling away.

“Can I just--”

“It’s better this way,” the woman called Regina said, her voice gentler this time. “If I do it, there’s no chance he’ll remember. I will be thorough.”

“I know,” Emma whispered, a tremor in her voice. When a tear trailed down her cheek he reached to catch it with his finger, his skin rough against the soft, chilled perfection of hers. He swiped the tear-track away with his thumb then put his hand on her cheek. A strangled sob tore from her throat, and she turned away from him.

“Emma, wait--”

“Your days at the farmer’s market are over, Mr. Jones,” the woman called Regina said as she stepped up in Emma’s place. She lifted her hand and before he could so much as run after what he was certain was his best chance at love, everything went dark.

Well, nearly everything.

There was one bit that followed him into the dreamless sleep he had afterward, something that when he woke the following day he did not remember, but it stuck with him nonetheless.

“This feels wrong. This is _wrong_.”

“Then it can’t be love.”

“Love?” This with a scoff. “Who said anything about love?”

**Author's Note:**

> harry potterverse auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
> 
> thank you for reading it!


End file.
